Reborn From Ashes: Divorcing The Billionaire

Gene grabbed her black Hermès Birkin bag and followed Alvie's path. Her high heels clicked against the cold concrete floor of the underground parking garage, a steady, rhythmic sound like a ticking metronome.

The driver opened the door of the black Bentley. Gene slid into the backseat. She moved all the way to the opposite side, pressing her shoulder against the door panel, putting as much physical distance between herself and Alvie as the leather seat allowed.

Alvie got in a second later.

During the two-hour drive to Long Island, the silence in the car was suffocating. Alvie shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat three times, attempting to start a conversation to smooth over the disastrous morning.

Every time he opened his mouth, Gene simply closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the window. Her absolute, freezing indifference choked the words right out of his throat.

The Bentley finally slowed down, turning through the massive wrought-iron gates of the Gallagher family estate in the Hamptons. The tires crunched over the gravel before stopping smoothly in front of the grand fountain.

Gene pushed her own door open before the driver could reach it.

She stepped out and inhaled a deep breath of the crisp, salty ocean air. She straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back. She walked toward the heavy oak front doors-the same doors that had represented nothing but humiliation in her past life.

The butler pulled the doors open.

Inside the sprawling, opulent living room, Eleanor Gallagher sat on a velvet sofa. The matriarch was surrounded by a circle of wealthy socialites, sipping tea from delicate porcelain cups.

Blair, Alvie's younger sister, was leaning against the marble fireplace. The moment she saw Gene walk in wearing the sharp black suit, Blair let out a loud, exaggerated scoff.

Eleanor placed her teacup on the saucer with a sharp clink. Her brows pulled together in a deep frown. Her eyes dragged up and down Gene's outfit with pure disdain.

"You look like a black widow heading to a funeral," Eleanor snapped, her voice carrying across the room. "Is this how you dress for a family gathering?"

The socialites sitting around the coffee table raised their silk handkerchiefs to their mouths, hiding their cruel little smiles. They waited for the poor, commoner daughter-in-law to cower.

The old Gene would have stammered an apology and run upstairs to change.

The new Gene stopped in the center of the room. She met Eleanor's harsh glare head-on. A slow, mocking smile spread across her face.

"I am dressed for a funeral, Eleanor," Gene said. Her flawless Upper East Side accent-a polished remnant of the elite Swiss boarding school she had attended on a full scholarship-was sharp and precise, her tone dripping with ice. "I'm mourning the rapid decline of the Gallagher family's taste."

The living room went dead silent.

Eleanor's eyes widened in absolute shock. Her mouth parted slightly. She couldn't believe the weak, pathetic woman standing before her had just spoken back.

Blair pushed off the fireplace, her face twisting with rage. She pointed a manicured finger right at Gene's face.

"You ungrateful gold digger," Blair spat. "You're nothing but a leech! You're only allowed in this house because of that ironclad prenup!"

Gene didn't flinch. She took one step forward, closing the distance. Her eyes were sharp as scalpels.

"A leech?" Gene tilted her head. "That's an interesting word coming from someone who maxed out three credit cards last month and had debt collectors calling the corporate office."

Blair's face flushed a violent, blotchy red.

The socialites shifted in their seats, their eyes darting between Blair and Gene, hungry for the scandal.

Eleanor slammed her hand down on the glass coffee table. She shot up from the sofa.

"Shut your mouth!" Eleanor shrieked. "Apologize to your sister immediately and go to your room!"

Gene let out a dark, humorless laugh. She looked around the room at the sea of fake, horrified faces.

"The only people who need to apologize are the parasites living off a name they do nothing to build," Gene said coldly.

Blair let out a furious scream. She lunged forward on her stilettos, raising her right hand high in the air, aiming a vicious slap right at Gene's cheek.

Gene's eyes narrowed. Her muscles coiled instantly. She planted her feet, ready to dodge and strike back.

But before she could move, a large, powerful hand shot out from her periphery.

The hand clamped down around Blair's wrist in mid-air, stopping the slap dead in its tracks.

Gene turned her head in surprise. It was Alvie. He had been standing silently near the entryway the entire time.

Alvie's jaw was clenched so tight the muscles ticked. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he shoved Blair's arm away with brutal force. Blair stumbled backward, her heels skidding on the rug.

"Are you out of your mind? !" Eleanor gasped, clutching her chest. "You're attacking your own sister for this outsider?"

Alvie's breathing was erratic. The terrifying images from his dream-the stock plummeting, his life ruined after Gene left him-flashed behind his eyes.

"She is my wife," Alvie yelled, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "She is not an outsider!"

Eleanor and Blair stared at him like he had lost his mind.

Gene narrowed her eyes. Her internal alarms were blaring. This wasn't love. This was a sick, twisted form of control.

Alvie turned to Gene. He reached out, trying to place his hand on the small of her back, attempting to play the role of the protective husband in front of the crowd.

Gene sidestepped him immediately. She didn't try to hide her revulsion.

Alvie's hand hung suspended in the empty air. His face flushed with a mix of deep embarrassment and rising anger. He gritted his teeth and shot a lethal glare at Blair.

Blair cradled her wrist, her eyes welling with angry tears. She opened her mouth to scream again.

Suddenly, the heavy, measured sound of footsteps echoed from the grand entryway.

The chaotic living room instantly fell into a suffocating silence. It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Everyone froze, their eyes fixed on the arched doorway.